They Were One Hundred Warriors
by Centurion Tiberis
Summary: They were Space Marines, the armored fist of the Imperium. They were the best soldiers an entire galaxy of seething  humanity had ever seen. They were all that stood against the savagery of the Ork.   They were one hundred warriors…


They were Space Marines, the armored fist of the Imperium. They were the best soldiers an entire galaxy of seething humanity had ever seen. They were the 2nd Company of the Silver Fist. They were one hundred warriors, one hundred armored bodies. They were all that stood between this fragile outpost of humanity and the savagery of the Ork. They were one hundred warriors…

They were the Ork, the blight of ten thousand worlds, and the terror of a million more. They were the most numerous and savage army this world had ever seen. They were a teeming horde of millions. They were the unstoppable wave of green flesh. They were the Ork…

The blood red glare of the sun creeps over the ridge, its crimson tentacles infiltrate every nook and cranny of the mammoth tower of granite and steel known as The Citadel. The bloody light drenches the scene, the air a sea of blood. The light whispers of things to come. Soon the Ork would arrive...

The light breaks over a wave of green. Hulking shapes stir. A breeze carries a scent. The scent the horde is hoping for. Manflesh is in the air. Roars of bloodlust sweep over the vast plains. The gnashing teeth of the horde will soon be settled. The bloodlust will be fulfilled, soon, soon…

Unnatural howling swirls around The Citadel. The very soil beneath begins to tremble. The war-cry of the Ork rising to a bone shaking crescendo, a switch is thrown. The cries cease. Silence prevails. Then, the clear ringing of the horns fills the silent void. The horns fall silent. The Marines are ready, let them come…

A single roar echoes along the barren plain. Another follows. Once again The Citadel trembles before the cries of the horde. The wave seems to fall back. Then rushes forward, a green tide rolls in. Flashes of yellow flare from The Citadel, Orks fall beneath the hail of lead. Yet the tide rushes on. The air fills with fire. Streaks of light mangle the air…

The tide surges against the rock of the Citadel, now an island in a raging sea. The sea rushes back and forth, seeking an opening, it finds one. Marines stand in the way of the sea. What can mere men do against the tide? The waves break upon the rock. Guns blaze, swords leap from body to body. The mass of flesh falters. Men hold back the tide, for now…

The sea is unstoppable, endless waves of flesh hurl themselves against the rock. Crude blades and teeth quest for flesh, but met steel. The tide is held, the tide is held. A man falls, his life's blood staining the bare stone. Ninety-nine warriors…

The air above the surging sea grows ever thicker. Streaks of light and smoke cross in a fatal dance. Bullets meet green flesh. Blood shines in the air. Now the fire begins to rise. Sparks rise from the surface of the sea, and shatter stone, and flesh. Ninety-eight warriors…

The sea rises again, a new surge against the rock, now the rock is stained crimson. The men know now this will be their last fight. Yet still the guns roar, swords bury themselves in green skin. There are too many. The sea is unstoppable. Ninety-seven warriors…

Now the sea begins to enter the rock, beasts trampling their fallen brothers. The battle rages ever fiercer. The shine of the blood becomes ever greater. The sea is inescapable. A warrior is too slow, another body tumbles to the ground. Ninety-six warriors…

The blood climbs higher. The beasts grow bolder. The fire grows ever greater. The light dims. Great pillars of smoke rise, a monument of fire. The Citadel is beginning to crumble. Armor cracks, another blade bites deep, another beast falls. Another gun erupts, another beast falls. Yet the tide is irresistible. Ninety-five warriors…

The Men hold fast. The guns blaze ever more fiercely. The blades bite ever deeper. They are not infinite, like the sea. Yet the Men hold fast. The blood stills, the beast falters. The Marines push. One warrior goes too far, swallowed by the sea. Ninety-four warriors…

The sea is relentless. The Citadel is filling. Men can not hold back the tide. They begin to climb away from the sea, first one, and then another. The blood resumes its climb. The Beasts fall, yet behind are still more. The bloodlust of the Ork will not be sated so easily, another warrior is carried under the waves. Ninety-three warriors…

Now the sun fails, the red light of the day fades. The sea carries on into the dark, a monster of old. In the darkness the blood slows its climb, cruel blades slicing more wildly. One more savage stroke lands in flesh. Ninety-two warriors…

Warrior clashes against Beast as the last light dies. Now the Beast is at disadvantage, The Men drive forward. The blood halts. The beast falters once more, but is not beaten. Axes flail in the darkness. Ninety-one warriors…

Waves fall away from the rock, the tide reverses direction. The beast slinks away in the darkness to lick its wounds. The Citadel empties of the sea. The Men have done the impossible. They held back the tide, but not for long and not without loss, Ninety warriors…

Men fall to the ground, lying in pools of blood. They do not care. They held back the tide. Now they rest. In the morning the tide will roll in. It is the way of the universe. The silver light of moons breaks over the tower of rock, and the armor of the sleeping warriors…

The horde is angry. Men denied their satisfaction. The great sea is punctuated by the hulking forms of beast flailing against each other. In the morning the tide will roll in. It is the way of the universe. The horde, like the sea may appear to rest, but it does not. The horde is angry. They will have their toll…

The red glare of the sun once again creeps over the ridge. Its rays shine onto a scene of devastation. Thousands of bodies litter the ground around The Citadel, blood pools in depressions in the ground. Broken weapons lie in heaps of steel. Yet it is only a drop of the vast sea that lays shattered on the blood-soaked ground…

Once more the waves crest the ridge. The sea rushes towards The Citadel. The tide is rolling in. The Marines are ready. But this time the sea is punctured with great steel beasts. The Orks have brought their machines. Fire erupts from the poorly crafted beasts. Rock shatters. Eighty-nine warriors…

Fire falls from The Citadel in an endless torrent of death. Brute beast and Smoke-belching monstrosity alike fall before the rain, wheat before the scythe. The sea breaks upon the rock. Once more blades flash in the morning sun. Beasts fall, but another warrior pushes to far, another warrior crushed beneath the tide. Eighty-eight warriors…

Fresh blood splatters against the walls of rock. The darker red covered by this new flow. The Marines are pushed by a step, then another. A steel behemoth opens is mouth. Flame pours into the Citadel. Beast and Warrior alike scramble away. Many are too slow. Eighty-seven warriors…

The fire above the raging sea reaches a new crescendo. Mammoth pillars of flame and black smoke rise up. Another temple to the unending death rises. The tide is relentless, beast and machine surge forward. Missiles streak upward. Rock shatters, the Citadel quavers under the onslaught. Eighty-six warriors…

The Citadel begins to fill again. Men fall away from the tide. Bright red rock rises higher and higher, now eighty-five warriors. The Men are weary. The tide wears away at the rock. The Men are being chipped away, one after another. Eighty-four warriors…

The fresh blood rises. Now higher than yesterday's blood. The beast feels a breaking. Blood flows more freely than ever before, eighty-three warriors. The beast rushes forward, cruel axes met flesh. Eighty-two warriors…

A new force enters the fray. The Marines have machines of their own. Glittering steel crushes beasts. The deafening roar of engines is heard above the din of battle. Once more the Marines surge forward. The weight of iron slamming down on the horde, the sea pulls back from the island. Now a metal hulk joins the fallen. Eighty warriors…

The tide is not spent. Once more water clashes on rock, another glittering body is covered by the endless waves of green, seventy-nine warriors. The Citadel is no longer the only island. Steel protrudes from the sea, slowing the tide, but not halting it. Seventy-eight warriors…

The sun falls again. The tide flows away again, taking yet another with it. The Citadel stands. The glow of moons softens the devastation. The Marines are spent. They know they can not last much longer. The end is approaching. Seventy-seven warriors…

Dawn. They red light brings the horde, The Citadel awash in a sea of flesh and blood. The blood rises ever higher, sweeping away another defender, seventy-six warriors. The Marines know this is the last day. The horde has not tired. The Men have. Seventy-five warriors…

The breaking point, the soundless crack, the end is nigh. Seventy-four warriors stand. The sea floods into The Citadel. The dam has broken. The end is here, seventy-three warriors. The beasts pour onto the battlements. The rock that has stood the tempest now breaks. The exhausted Men can not hold. Seventy-two warriors…

Axe meets flesh, seventy-one warriors. Another gun falls silent, seventy warriors. The blood reaches towards the top of rock, sixty-nine warriors. Men stagger, groping for balance, sixty-eight warriors. The Marines know now, none of them will survive, sixty-seven warriors…

The Men are forced higher, the grasping arms of the sea follow, the sea always follows, sixty-six warriors. The Men are tired, sixty-five warriors. The Men have fought long, sixty-four warriors. Yet the Men still fight, they are Space Marines, they do not fear the death that is all around them. Sixty-three warriors…

Death reaches to highest level, His tendrils everywhere, sixty-two warriors. The Marines fight on, a thousand corpses fall from above, sixty-one warriors. The Citadel now fully coated in the blood of Man and Beast alike, sixty warriors…

The last rays of the dying sun provide no respite, fifty-nine warriors. The horde cares not, axes still fall, fifty-eight warriors. Teeth still tear, fifty-seven warriors. The Men will not survive the night, fifty-six warriors. The sea does not stop, fifty-five warriors. The tide does not turn, fifty-four warriors. The end is here, fifty-three warriors. Night has fallen, fifty-two warriors. The last day is over, fifty-one warriors. The Men will not survive the night, fifty warriors…

The light of the moons reaches through shattered windows, forty-nine warriors. The corpses of beast and man lay mingled on the floor, forty-eight warriors. The company is shattered, forty-seven warriors. The axes ring, forty-six warriors. The night is full of blood, forty-five warriors. The tide laps against the rock, forty-four warriors, gentler than before, forty-three warriors. The end is here, forty-two warriors, and the tide knows it, forty-one warriors…

Midnight, forty warriors, the Men are spent, thirty-nine warriors. The blood shines, thirty-eight warriors, silver in the night, thirty-seven warriors. The dawn will not see a living Man, thirty-six warriors, not one, thirty-five warriors. The horde is frenzied, thirty-four warriors, they beat madly on the rock, thirty-three warriors, all the beasts want their share, thirty-two warriors. The end is here, thirty-one warriors, and the tide knows it, thirty warriors…

Men slip in the dark, twenty-nine warriors, the axes are relentless, twenty-eight warriors, they catch all who stumble, twenty-seven warriors. The armor of the Men is cracked, twenty-seven warriors, all that is left is, twenty-six warriors, their pride, twenty-five warriors, their spirit, twenty-four warriors, and the ceaseless motion of their swords, twenty three warriors, yet, twenty-two warriors, it is not enough, twenty-one warriors, the end is here, twenty warriors, and the tide knows it, nineteen warriors…

A horn sounds, eighteen warriors, the battle cry sounds, seventeen warriors, defiant to the last, sixteen warriors. The end is here, fifteen warriors, the Men know it too, fourteen warriors, they know it, thirteen warriors, and they accept it, twelve warriors, the end is here, eleven warriors, and the tide knows it, ten warriors…

The end is here, nine warriors, the sea was too vast, eight warriors, no Man can hold back the sea, seven warriors, the end is here, six warriors, no man, five warriors, can hold back the sea, four warriors. The end is here, three warriors, the men know it, two warriors, the end is here, and the tide knows it, one warrior…

The end is past. They were the 2nd Company of the Steel Fist, they were the best soldiers all of the teeming multitudes of Humanity ever saw. In the end, though ten thousand Orks lay at their feet, they were only Men, and Men can not hold back the sea…


End file.
